


We Were In Screaming Color

by Madzie



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: And Alec Lightwood simply can't look away, Character Study, M/M, Magnus Bane is far too powerful and beautiful, Season 1, soulmate trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7822555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madzie/pseuds/Madzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We rule with our heads, not our hearts.”<br/>Ever since childhood, Alec Lightwood has been taught that to desire color was frivolous, and unbecoming of a Shadowhunter whom’s main purpose was to fight over all else, So Alec had been content in a world composed of varying shades of gray, and following the orders imposed upon him by  the Clave.<br/>That is until he has a chance encounter with High Warlock Magnus Bane, and suddenly understands all the granger and brilliance  there is in the world, if one knew how to find it.</p><p>—OR— Alec’s perspective throughout the first season, where one does not begin seeing color until he or she meets their soulmate. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He’s eight years old when he takes note of the lack of color, with any true interest, for the first time.

It occurred upon an ordinary night, with Alec—sitting with the distinct posture of a born warrior,a position which permits him the ability to defend at a moment’s call, , with as much ease as one would give to breathing—mustering all his concentration to lie intently upon the parchment before him. While his feather light hand swiftly paints across the sheet’s face with the hieroglyphs of the ancient scripture he is currently being taught, a far to exuberant Isabelle squawks with the insistence that his attention should be transferred to the sight of the paper she flails around with the flourish that only a six year old child can demonstrate.

“Izzy,” Alec scolds with words void of any actual heat. “I need to finish my studies.”

“I know mi hermano, but I need your help,” she whines, putting extra emphasis on her large round orbs in the way she knows her elder brother can not resist but give in to whatever she is asking of him.

Staying true to form, Alec—with a resigned sigh—sets down the ink pen he had been utilizing, and informs Izzy that she has earned his undivided attention.

“I just don’t know which crayon to use when coloring in my picture,” She explains.

“And what, you think I do?” Alec scoffs, albeit a bit irritatedly. Izzy, just as any Shadowhunter, young and old alike, is well aware that scarcely did one come across a Nephilim soldier whom held the ability to look over the gray scale that they have all been born with, in any true variance. It had been one of the many Mundane qualities that had been stripped away from Jonathan Shadowhunter, by the all mighty Angel Raziel, so to further emphasize the distinction contrasted against the ordinary mortals to his chosen warriors of the heavens. Though, it hadn’t taken long at all for the Shadowhunters of later generations to begin discerning a rift in the way a few amongst them had been granted the capacity to observe the vivid hues which trivial Mundanes are presented with at birth, later on in life. An addition to their existence that none could put into words. 

The color seeing Nephilim had professed the phenomenon to being caused by their finding whom they proclaim as their “Soulmate.” 

To this day, the very announcement that any Shadowhunter has begun seeing colors is a radical promulgation. After all, rare is it for them to find one another, but made even rare—With the interminable politics within the social construct of the Nephilim antiquity, and prevalent deaths of which plague their line of work—for one to actually spend their lives with his or her so called, “Soulmate. It was an iridescent delusion that the youth of their people had dreamed of experiencing, much like a mundane child whom longed to live one of the fairytales that had clogged their perceptions of reality. ”

Nothing more than a romantic prospect to revel within when most alone.

“No,” Izzy relents with a pout, and petulant flip of one of her tightly twisted pigtails. “But you’re the best at deciphering which shades of gray are the same. And when I find my soulmate, I don’t wanna look at my pictures and see that my grass and leaves don’t match.”

Alec gives his sister an exasperated role of the eyes. “Why would you spend your time wanting to find your soulmate Iz.”

“Because, I wanna make sure someone always loves me.” She informs him with a devastating sort of simplicity. A raw honesty to her words that makes it so it feels as if a searing ball of flames has just been rammed into the boy’s gut.

“Izzy, I’ll always love you.” Alec ensures her while kneeling down, so to sit besides the girl upon the manicured wooden floor, a mess of paper and crayons strewn before them. “You know that.”

“I know Alec,” she rests her head on her brother’s yet slight shoulder. “But don’t you think it’d be so spectacular to find the person who is suppose to complete you, and suddenly understand the world in all it’s amazingness.”

He doesn’t.

Alec is positive with the conviction that his family is all he will ever need, for all the time to come. Whether or not they can grant him with the vivid hues that a plethora of Shadowhunters yearn to witness. After all, emotions are nothing but a distraction.

But Izzy sounds so wistful, imagining a life that they could never have, that he decides not to dispute her. Alec instead wraps an arm around his beloved sister, and joins in on hoping for an unobtainable fantasy that she had ever so daftly strung together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come now Alexander,” Hajj shuts his lids in dismay. “I’ve always taken you to being aware well past your years. Do you honestly believe that with the billions upon billions of people upon this planet, and the thousands of miles which part us, that there only remains one soulmate for each person? Do you not understand that there are various type of soulmates for us to connect to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the Kudos and bookmarks last chapter<3  
> I really hope you like this one as well :)  
> Pleaseeee let me know what you think!!

He’s twelve years old when the news breaks.

Apparently, upon their first junction, Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn have been proclaimed as soulmates.

The announcement by the two families, (Both with their own sort of peculiar history,) had caused furtive murmurs to ripple across the entirety of the Idris community, and beyond. Not only was the pair relatively young—younger than Alec even—But the Blackthorn’s have yet to relinquish themselves of the dishonor that had been brought out by Andrew Blackthorn’s more than licentious behavior, (One which is composed of a torrid relationship with a subject of the Seelie Hierarchy, and resulting in a pair of pale haired, sharp eared children.) After all, how is it that the Carstairs’ would be so willing in proclaiming their only child to be bound to a family whom is so utterly engulfed with such fraudulence and promiscuity.

When first catching wind of the most recent development, Alec had been as intrigued as one should be when learning of a personal situation held between two people that they had only encountered in passing—That is to say, not very interested in the least—Though, unwittingly being on the tale end of Isabelle’s tirade of the insolence spat in her face that a pair of three year olds—especially ones whom lack her luster—Could see the colors she ever so achingly desired, has caused vestiges of curiosity to surge to the focus of Alec’s every thought.

Besides, as put in Isabelle’s ever so eloquent manner, “Their dumb baby brains probably don’t even get how important this is.”

Eventually, Alec decides that the only way to quill his rapidly growing intrigue of this “Soulmate” predicament, would be to steal his nerves, and speak out loud the inquiries that have vexed him throughout the passing week, the harsh condemnation of reality be damned.

Amidst one of his lessons in the recognition of Warlock craft, Alec decides to divulge his quandaries to one of the few adults he can actually entrust—Suddenly thankful to how his excelling his siblings in this particular study, (New pronounced adoptive brother included,) has made it so that he and Hodge are in complete solitude within the imposing library.

“I don’t understand it,” Alec blurts out to his instructor, not knowing how to bring out the subject naturally.

Hodge widens his eyes, if only slightly, at the deliberation found in the boy’s words. “What’s wrong Alexander? Never before have you had troubles in translations.”

“I’m not confused about this,” Alec scoffs, taking great umbrage of the very thought that the task of scribing the list of potion ingredients back into it’s original demonic language, would prove difficult for him.

“Alright then,” Hodge rectifies with a warm grin. “what on this planet could possibly perplex you.”

“This whole Emma and Julian situation,” Alec spews with more frustration than even he could have anticipated. “I mean no matter where I go, there is some sort of incessant babbling about it. Either people are gushing over it, or gossiping about how horrendous it is!” Hodge parts his lips to attempt to pacify the boys bubbling anger, though Alec doesn’t give him the opportunity to try. “I mean Izzy has always wanted to find her stupid soulmate sense forever, but now even Jace is getting curious! What’s the appeal for Angel’s sake!”

With a bemused grin, a chuckle pours from the paler haired man’s lips. “Alexander, it appears as if you procure some sort of passionate emotion towards this topic, just like the lot of them.”

“It’s not the same,” Alec contends testily, with a peevish glower and disgruntled crossing of the arms. “I just want an explanation to why so many shadowhunters my age want to find their , “Soulmate,” he gestures air quotes around the word in question. “I mean, by the Angel, we’re Nephilim! We already have something akin to what mortals try to find!—God it’s like they have no prospect to what a Parabatai is!”

“Come now Alexander,” Hodge shuts his lids in dismay. “I’ve always taken you to being aware well past your years. Do you honestly believe that with the billions upon billions of people upon this planet, and the thousands of miles which part us, that there only remains one soulmate for each person? Do you not understand that there are various type of soulmates for us to connect to?”

He doesn’t.

A sudden lapse of silence falls between them, with the child averting his gaze a bit bashfully. “What do you mean one type?”

“I’m referring to the fact that you must comprehend that while we as Nephilim are gifted with the choice of taking part in the covenant of Parabatai—That ritual is created to knit together partners in arms. But it is the soulmates whom we must find that are our partners in life. And it is more than feasible for us to find both.”

Taking note of the certainty sculpting the man’s words, a sudden realization comes over him, and Alec pins Hodge with a one eyed squint. “You see them, don’t you.”

Hodge gives a start to the non sequitur spoken by the boy that he has come to associate as a sun of sorts, (Completely disregarding the high esteem the Lightwood name held, and how Starkweather was quite lackluster in comparison—Which had been one of the deciding factors towards the drastic disparity of the punishments that each family had been allotted for their disloyalty towards the Clave—) “Pardon me.”

 

“Don’t act dumb. I’ve seen the way you stare at certain things, like the shimmering pen that Izzy insists on using to practice her writings.” Alec states with words void of hesitation. The directness of speaking, one free of colorful games meant for distortion, is the only way the boy knows how to communicate. “You see them! You have a soulmate!”

Hajj shuts his lids in defeat to the child’s perception. “I only can make out certain shades of blue, and some purples.” He confirms tacitly.

Alec’s jaw falls agape. “Why?”

“Truthfully?” Hajj hikes one of his pale brows in question. “I haven’t the slightest clue. The few people whom I’ve interrogated about the ordeal simply tell me that I’ve most likely been acquainted with my soulmate—conversed with the person even—Though we had never spent enough time together to realize what we had meant to one another.”

Alec finds himself wanting to apologize profusely to his beloved tutor for the hopelessness of it all, and how it was so utterly unfair that he was so close and yet so incredibly far from experiencing what it was that so many practically lusted over.

“My mother tells me that seeing colors is an imprudent indulgence, and that only the most feeble minded of Nephilim long for it.” Alec offers in a strangled mess of words, hoping to release the air of the tightness that had seized the space between them. “It would only act as a distraction to you. I mean there’s a reason why Raziel had taken away the ability in the first place.”

Alec feels a plunge of disappointment when Hajj’s expression only sinks lower with a sort of innate sadness, and he wonders what he could have done to make him so upset.  
“Enlighten me to why he had done so, will you?” Hajj asks riley.

His face scrunching up as if he had just swallowed something unpalatable, Alec dubiously ponders to himself why would Hajj ask such a thing. It’s not as if it is a secret. But with a nearly imperceptible shrug, and tossing caution to the wind, Alec meets his steady gaze and answers without a fault the teachings that had been invariably scorched into his mind since infancy.

“So to ensure our segregation from the Mundanes and Downworlders.”

“Alexander,” Hajj starts with a tone which unfalteringly makes it so Alec is privy to when the teacher espouses a particularly profound creed. “Tell me, are you not afraid that it is our societies inclination of readily embracing our angelic lineage, while opting to toss aside all that makes us mortal, which will ultimately incline to our downfall. How will we continue to protect the Mundanes if we have become so cold, and desensitized to the going ons of their existence? And what will Raziel find useful of us if we can no longer perform this task, that had been the very reason behind our inception?”

 

Alec knows precisely how he should respond, the words echoing in his mother’s rigid tone within the confines of his mind.

He should counter with the fact that they have no place within the Mundane world either. That they as Nephilim are designed to only destroy the scourge of demons whom penetrate this dimension. They are beings whom must not toy with the superfluous, Mundane sensibilities of “falling in love” or reveling within some sort of selfish joy. Because emotions are but a distraction—And if they petrify within the process—Then that is merely the price Shadowhunters must pay for the greater good of the global society.

Alec is prepared to articulate all this, and more, indefatigably. The answer squirms up his throat, and seeps through his clenched teeth. But, when he finally does part his lips, nothing spills out.

“I see,” Hajj nods with a rye grin. “Follow me, will you,” he instructs while beginning his descent down the endless corridors of the library. Ones composed of shelves upon shelves of texts that any self respecting Institute would curate.

Alec does as instructed.

“Read this,” Hajj hands Alec a particularly thick leather bound novel, one which is embroidered with an intricate golden script, once they finally reach the far left wall.

“What-“

“An anthology of all accounts given by most of the Shadowhunters whom found their soulmates, and whom lived with them for a substantial chunk of their lives.” Hajj answers immediately. ““It may possibly prove to you that some of our greatest warriors, were the ones most in touch with their humanity.”

Before Alec can respond, the instructor pivots on his heals, and leaves him to his solitude.

Perhaps Alec should have just shrugged off the ominous warning. Perhaps he should have simply tucked away the book into some random space, and ended his lessons early, so to partake in some frivolous game that Izzy and Jace were surely in the midst of. Perhaps he should have just excepted that he and Hajj would never see eye to eye in this particular subject.

Perhaps Alec should have done all that—But of course, he does not.

Rather, the dark haired boy locates a particularly quiet nook within the library, and splits open the hefty scripture. He drowns himself within the space between the lines and meaning behind each individual word.

Alec reads, and rereads each definition spoken by Shadowhunters whom have found their “soulmate.” He begins to comprehend the clinical description of how each instance of finding one’s soulmate proved different for all. How some knew immediately, while others took perhaps years to realize. And was shocked when learning how Jonathan Shadowhunter’s own granddaughter, Ana Shadowhunter, had been one of the first Nephilims to find her “Soulmate,” within the form of the eldest Lightwood boy of her time.

Alec reads and rereads the different perspective in seeing that takes place once a Shadowhunter’s soulmate is born, and when he or she dies. He tries to understand how some, (Those whom lived with their “soulmates” for a great while,) compared the agony felt after his or her “soulmate’s” death, as comparable to the severing of a Parabatai’s bond.

Alec reads, and rereads each passage that answers only a few of the questions that have been swirling emphatically around his mind throughout the passing weeks.

All until he allows himself to flip to the pages marred with a symbol of prohibition—Each letter on the fading parchment etched in a gruesomely scarlet hand.

Alec reads of horrendous tales of how certain Shadowhunters would find their other half within the form of their Parabatai, or the same sex as he or she—Or worse yet, a Downworlder!

Each instance illustrated a Shadowhunter finding the color of their existence , within a person whom the Clave’s viciously, draconian platform has outlawed. So But of course , each story had ended with either bloodshed , or the stripping of a Nephilim’s runes—Both consequences equal parts brutal and life ending.

Alec is only partially bewildered to why the realization brings with it a burning sensation to prickle his almond shaped orbs.

“Alexander?“

startled, Alec immediately slams shut the book, and sweeps a hand to clear his distorted vision from the salty droplets which have begun to sprinkle out. His stomach twisting unpleasantly once he allows his glossy eyes to meet the steady, hard one’s belonging to his mother.

“What are you reading?” Maryse catechizes, regarding her son with furrowed brows and a hard set to her jaw.

“No-nothing,” Alec stammers out, with a flush swept across the pallor of his face.

The daunting woman extends her hand to her eldest child, beckoning him to hand over the reading with the quick folding of her finger.

With a harsh swallow, Alec thrusts it outwards, suddenly thankful to how he has made it impossible for her to understand what had caused him to be so disheartened.

Once Maryse reads the title printed in shimmering letters within the inside cover, she flickers her cold stare back to her son. For most, his mother’s face—One smooth as marble—was inscrutable to read. But Alec finds himself easily analyzing the cold glint to her gaze, and the slightly more severe downturn to her lips.

“Well then, that’s enough of that.” Her words were coded with a veneer of nonchalance, but Alec could hear the disappointment beneath…Cold and scorching all at once.

“I’m sorry–I just”

“Alexander,” Maryse raises a hand in admonishment. “I’ll pretend as if this incident had never occurred, as long as you continue entrusting that what I tell you is the truth. We are Nephilim first, and all else is an indulgence. That is why we rule with our heads–“  
“And not our hearts.” Alec quickly completes the mantra, thinking that perhaps it would lead to a lighter reprimanding. “I know mother. And I will always trust your word.”

“Very well,” she gives him a quick, stiff nod of the head, but Alec catches the slightest loosening of her ever poised shoulders. “Come now,” she cards her hand through her son’s disheveled locks. “I believe Jace and Isabelle are looking for you.”

Obediently, Alec follows suit, thankful to evade the air thick of expectations, and the heart wrenching memories of what had become of the Shadowhunters of the past, echoing in the space surrounding him.

He convinces himself that his mother finding him was a sign that it was far too foolish to ever lose himself in any sort of figment of destiny.

Alec is a Shadowhunter first, and last, and always. Colors would only hinder his capabilities as a warrior.

We rule with our heads, not our hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so so much for reading<3<3  
> I would loveeeeeeeeee to hear what you think!!!!  
> Comments are my lifeline<3 XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s nothing you can, “get,” Alec.” Aline corrects. “Having a soulmate is not like how we can consciously decide who our Parabatai is…It’s more special than that.”
> 
> Alec’s brows shoot up in shock. 
> 
> (Sacrilege!!) 
> 
> “Then what is it like?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading<3

He’s sixteen years old when the convictions he had been enslaved to, begin to crumble.  
Alec extracts a single arrow from his quiver. Though, prior to his slicing it through the air with his bow, he shrinks back from the sound of his sister calling for him to hit a particular point. (As if Alec was some sort of machine that she could put a quarter in, and watch it dance to her heart’s content.)

He swirls around, and tells her as much. A glower plastered onto Alec’s face all the while.

Izzy only retorts with nothing more than A slight smile playing on the edges of her lips, and a shrugging of the shoulders. long legs swinging, and fingers tapping against the slab of stone she’s perched upon, all the while…A true picture of innocence that she has so expertly pieced together.

“I’m just trying to test you big brother,” she remedies in mock cluelessness. “You should really be thanking me.”

Alec fights against the exasperated chuckle threatening to tear through his lips. But alas it was to no avail. So with a doting shake of the head, he returns to his position, and aims for the nest that Izzy had instructed him to hit—feeling More than slightly smug when he hears her cheers post his success, accompanied by the, “Nice going bro,” by Jace.

Standing there, nestled within the alcove of lavish Evergreens, and the subtle lapping shoreline of Lake Lynn, Alec allows himself to relish within the tranquility of it all. And he thinks that perhaps he could remain here, this corner of forever within their own Garden of Eaton, for all the eons to come. Where Alec and his siblings could circumvent all the expectations lying upon all their shoulders, from acting as the elite Nephilim Soldiers they are meant to constantly depict, to the heavy duty of upholding the Lightwood name. Instead, they can lose themselves within the haze of golden beams intertwined with their ebullient chortles, and the games their clever minds had so effortlessly woven together.

But of course, Alec knows all too well that soon his parents will return from their consultation with the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters of idris, (Whom will be executing the next round of protection rituals for Alec’s baby brother, Max, in a matter of days.) And once they inevitably restore their position as the heads of the New York Institute, the Lightwood children will be thrust back into their seemingly never ending studies, and training seminars. A monotonous way of life for all the years to come. And they cannot so much as even display a spark of aggravation towards the situation as a whole, without being spared the painful sensation of rejection for disappointing their ever so proud parents.

“Do the red bows do anything particularly spectacular?” A new voice interjects, effectively jolting Alec from the melancholy recollection of what awaits him back in New York.

As if on cue, the trio swivel their gazes harmoniously towards the interloper of the sacred ground they have escaped to sense childhood. (A recess within the outskirts of Alicante that only their closest companions know of.) Though, each of their defensive stances fall back into a sense of ease, once they catch on the sight of the familiarly striking Asian girl tossing them a playful smirk.

“Aline!” Izzy cheers in greeting, pouncing onto the girl whom she has always seen as an older sister of sorts. Alec only slightly perceives the way Jace embraces her as well, and knows that he should most probably join in on the exchanging of hellos, After all, Aline holds the title of being one of the few people on this planet that Alec is not completely repulsed to being stranded on an island with. (Which is astonishingly high praises when coming from the ebony haired boy.)

But it is as if something had short circuited on the path between his brain’s wavelengths and spinal system.

Alec couldn’t move even if a Shacks Demon had just appeared out of no where, and commenced to catapult towards him.

“…Red arrow…”

She had said, “Red! arrow!”

Red!

And it is not as if Aline held the same infuriating inclination of titling objects with the color they are meant to reflect in Mundane eyes, as Isabelle has begun adopting—And even so, how on earth would she have found out that his arrow was suppose to be red—Of all colors! Red!

“Alec?” Aline’s distinctly Idris inflection was edged with a tone of worry as she called out for her oldest confidant. “I know you’re an infamous grouch and all, but are you really not gonna give your favorite friend a hug after not seeing her for months!”

Alec knows that he should have taken the prompting without a second’s hesitation, and reacquaint himself with the eldest Penhallow girl. But he is simply incapable of staving off the inquiries pressing forcefully against his lips. “Red…You said red arrow.”

“Yes, yes I did,” Aline confirms, a brilliant grin splayed miraculously across her pretty face, as a flush touches the tops of her prominent cheek bones.

Nothing could have prepared any of them for the dissonant screeches squirming out of Izzy’s wide open mouth. (A far to ear shattering sound reverberating from such a tiny thing.)

“Who! Who is it! Where did you meet your soulmate! How long have you known? What color are my eyes? Who is it!” Izzy bombards the older girl rapturously, with not so much as a breath in between words.

“Okay, okay, give me a minute.” Aline teehees as Izzy continues to fervently tug on the girl’s arm. “It’s Helen Blackthorn. I’ve met her a bunch of times throughout the years, but we only really figured it out a few months ago, back when my parents held that posh party celebrating the 140 years anniversary sense the first official signing of The Accords.”

“And you kept it from us for this long Penhallow?” Jace teases with a lopsided grin, the joy glimmering in his ill-matching orbs negating the accusatory tone.

“Oh get off it Wayland,” She nudges the boys shoulder. “You guys left the morning after, and I’m personally under the thought that telling your closest friends that you’ve found your soulmate, isn’t exactly something to do through a phone call.”

“And my eyes?” Izzy interjects hopefully.

“You have a pair of gorgeous brown eyes Iz.”

“Brown?” Izzy repeats slowly, allowing her lips to contort around the word reverently. As if that one syllable held within it all the hushed whispers of mankind. “Wow,” Izzy marveled. “You really can see them? Can’t you?”

Aline gives a jaunty nod of the head, yet sporting a proud expression of what has come into fruition throughout the passing weeks.

“You and Helen are literally the prettiest couple I’ve ever seen!” Izzy exclaims whilst once again tackling herself into the other girl’s arms. I can’t believe you actually found your soulmate! I’m so so so happy for you!”

“You really are one of the lucky ones,” Jace surmises, a considerably more tempered down smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

“Trust me, I know.” Aline chortles, as the shimmering rays from above dance atop her large, dark irises—Accenting the mirth twinkling within their depths.

The congratulatory ambience for Aline’s new found partner, is harshly severed once a scowling Alec snarls, “Helen Blackthorn? Really? I mean aren’t you like cursing whatever this damned “soulmate” factory is, for putting you with not even a full blooded Shadowhunter? Like were you not good enough or something?”

Alec’s stomach drops right when the words left his lips, because he knows.

He knows that it was a cruel thing to spit at one of your closest friend’s, ,” He knows that Helen Blackthorn was a fine Shadowhunter, (If past experiences are anything to go by.) and besides he has never had an opinion on the Clave’s staunch, Anti-Downworlder agenda. So in truth, he had no place to ever make such a cruelly abhorrent snub.

“Alec!” Jace laments towards his Parabatai. “What the hell?”

“I-I didn’t mean it,” Alec blanches. But before he can offer any more words of explanation, he spots Izzy and Aline exchanging a covert glance that he could barely comprehend. All Alec knows is that afterwards, Izzy jerked on a scowling Jace’s arm, leading him back towards Alicante’s boarders. Muttering something or another about “Max” and, “a little wooden toy.”

Alec felt positively betrayed as he watched his siblings scrambling off, leaving him alone to deal with a very upset, and hurt Aline…And all due to his repugnant insult.

“Aline I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Alec immediately begins to blabber. Wanting her…No, needing, her to comprehend just how utterly apologetic he truly is. “I mean I bet Helen is amazing! I’d love to get to know her…Or not—Whatever you want.”

Alec was surprised when, rather than hurling a fleet of barbs of her own, of which she could find many by looking at Alec for a mere five seconds, (let alone a life time.) Aline treads towards the edge where water intercepted land. She melted into a seated position, lying back, so that her palms bite into the sod.

It doesn’t take long for Alec to assume the seat besides her, joining in on the bathing of the final shreds of sunlight and hope, as the summer slowly gives way to the cold. the gentle rippling of the lake nips at their toes, and the subtle humming of a prickling breeze caresses their faces, as if an invisible hand. Alec tilts his dark head upwards, permitting his guards to fall down, and a moment to lose himself within the comfortability of it all—The calm in the ever torrential storm that had pelleted down on his young life.

“You know Alec,” Aline starts tepidly, as she dips her dandy foot into the cool lake. “People questioned the validity of it, at first—With Helen being half Fay and all—But I never for a second felt even a ounce of doubt. I mean, it’s just something you know. Something that burns somewhere deep inside of you…” Her voice tappers off into the screaming silence that has built a blockade between them.

I don’t question it if that’s what you say,” Alec tells her in a voice vacant of even an iota of uncertainty, effectively shattering the quiet.

Alec thinks that perhaps she doesn’t trust him, on account to her lack of a response, but once he looks upwards, he finds Aline’s dark eyes peering into his own, and for a moment he understands how so many have compared the pair to parallel of sorts.

Both first borns to families whom’s titles ranked over else. Both revered for the pretense that they held the same capabilities of leadership, and talent as their predecessors. And both understanding the all too prevalent sensation of never being able to teeter off the edge of their gilded pedestals…Less they tarnish their ever so pristinely kept reputations.

They had always mirrored one another in the ever going waltz between familial pride, and quenching the ever elusive enigma that was living within their truth.

But it seems as if now his partner had called curtains on her sorrow, leaving Alec to dance alone in the dark. Only yearning for the chance of experiencing joy in it’s rawest of forms.

“I really am sorry,” he reiterates earnestly, emphasizing his words with a tender squeezing of the hand. And he hopes it conveys just how greatly he never desires to be one of those biggest who would dare discriminate against Helen Blackthorn, A kind a capable Shadowhunter, solely based on her blood line.

“I know you doofus,,” Aline jostles his shoulder with her own, and just like that, the pain weighing on Alec’s chest dissipates. They fall back to the ease that has always crafted their relationship.

“I just don’t understand it,” Alec tries to explain. “The whole idea of “Soulmates,” just always seemed implausible to me…And when my mom told me how idiotic it was to even imagine it—“

“It’s nothing you can, “get,” Alec.” Aline corrects. “Having a soulmate is not like how we can consciously decide who our Parabatai is…It’s more special than that.”

Alec’s brows shoot up in shock.

(Sacrilege!!)

“Then what is it like?” Alec challenges…is thoughts instinctively straying to the way his stomach would lurch slightly forward when Jace did something particularly endearing. Or how he would always ensure that his senseless Parabatai never got in too much trouble. And especially how exhilarating it felt when fighting alongside him, they always moving in tandem. As if clockwork figures wound at the same speed. How one would defend as the other would parry, with no clue needed but the slightest lifting of the brow, or pattern of the breath to inform the other to what is about to happen.

The way their hearts beat as one.

Alec believes that his relationship with Jace is quite special indeed. And sure he knows that it isn’t “love,” per se, and that it would be impossible due to their being Parabatai and all—But Alec had always thought that the way he felt towards Jace, his best friend, was something extremely precious. Even if neither could ever present the other with the vivid pigments that tone this world.

It was safe feeling whatever he wanted towards Jace.

“I don’t know,” Aline admits with a breath of laughter. “It just is—It’s someone who is literally sculpted to be your other half. Someone who understands your faults, and quirks, and fears—without you having to actually state them in so many words—And loving you all the same. It’s someone who is the key to showing you all the grandeur and brilliance their is to the world…Someone who can expose you to every distinctive hue, and emotion that makes your being sing with joy. Someone who makes you feel at home with that person. Like your very essence is put at ease, because somehow you were always intertwined, and finally being with them makes you feel complete…”

With an abashed curl of the lips, Aline cuts her gaze back to Alec. “Do you think that makes even a little sense?”

He doesn’t.

Because no matter how tantalizing and delightful it all sounds—Alec has yet to really believe that it could actually exists. Perhaps people who begin seeing color, were always meant to. And he or she dilutes themselves into thinking it was all due to one singular person.

“It still doesn’t make sense how if you think two people are literally intertwined, or bound to be with one another, or whatever—Why is it that it took you so long to realize that Helen was your soulmate?”

Giving a minuscule shrug to her petite shoulder, Aline answers with the simple fact that she hasn’t a clue to why that is. “I mean yeah it took us a bit,” she grants. “But look at Helen’s little brother, he and Emma began seeing colors right away.”

“But why?” Alec presses with a dubious one eyed squint. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh come on Alec,” Aline titters as she pushes back her dark curtain of ebony, so to look the boy straight into his ever changing orbs. “None of this makes sense! Our entire existence is built upon loophole within loophole. I mean it’s not surprising that it takes some people a while to find their soulmate—I personally think that people who take a bit longer to realize the truth, are merely made up of two older souls. Souls that might have been parted from each other for a couple lifetimes—So they just need some more time to recognize the other, and remember why they are meant to be.”

A frown etches deeper into Alec’s doll like countenance. He had always been one to look behind the analytics of a situation. How one step leads to another, and how it all depended on one’s conscious choice. But as if the longer and longer he speaks to Aline, the less and less controlled he feels about his life in general. And it’s all quite suffocating.

Alec supposes that Aline had been able to read his thoughts as a whole spectrum of emotions pan across his face, because she clamps a comforting hand onto his shoulder.   
“It’s nothing to really be afraid of Alec—It’s not as if you are shackled to your soulmate, or anything like that. He or she is just there. ya know?”

Alec furrows his brows in confusion, because if you were not tethered to this other spirit, (By providence or kismet or whatever,) then why do people intentionally make their lives more difficult? Why can’t they merely ignore it all together, and live the life they were meant to? A life that had been built for them by their family?

“So…You chose to be with Helen?” He asks meekly.

“Of course I did,” the girl’s face softens at the very sound of her soulmates name. “Helen is remarkable.”

Alec swallows harshly, his stomach tumbling viciously at the very thought of his next question. One that may ring far to close to home—But he can’t help himself. He must understand. “A-And when your parents found out your soulmate was Helen blackthorn.” He puts an extra emphasis on the girl’s distinctly feminine name.

A spell of silence blankets over them, suffocating Alec in it’s intensity. So when he finally does glance up, he is surprised to find that Aline’s head is inclined towards him. The corners of her lips ever so slightly curved into a rueful smile. One which confirms to Alec that she is not insensitive to the emotions warring within him.

“Honestly Alec,” She speaks in a near whisper, taking care not to startle him away. “I really think they were disappointed that it was a family as dysfunctional as the Blackthorns over anything else.”

The archer sinks his front teeth into his plump bottom lip, wishing that his family would ever act so accepting…But then his mother’s disapproving glower, and his father’s disappointed frown swim to the forefront of his mind…And Alec is yet again convinced that he could never understand how it felt to have his hand interlocked with one’s much larger, and stronger than what he is expected to desire.

He would never look so at peace when talking about his future partner, as Aline had appeared when discussing Helen. And not due to the overwhelming probability that he would not be granted a soulmate—

No…But because even if he had met his soulmate in some random strike of serendipity — He would yet always be forced into hiding his truth within baggy jumpers and shadowed corners.

Because Alec Lightwood is a loyal member of the Clave.

Because Alec Lightwood is a Shadowhunter first, and last, and always.

Because Alec Lightwood rules with his head, and not his heart,


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fluke, because even if it wasn’t…Magnus Bane enraptures every being whom he even glances at, and Alec Lightwood is a boy who could never really offer him anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this turned out alright :S

***

 

He’s twenty years old when Alec first begins to understand. 

“Feel better now,” Izzy had asked him…As if one simple rant could release him of all the pent up frustration that has begun to boil throughout the past week. A tumultuous week composed of revelations that Alec supposes we would have never been prepared to handle, at any age, or time. Let alone as a twenty year old in the midst of inheriting the reigns of one of the most vital Institutes within the Clave’s jurisdiction.

So no.

Alec does not feel better…Not in the least.

And now, racing through the compromised layer belonging to the the Warlocks, Alec feels nothing but complete and utter rage. 

Rage towards the fiery, hotshot whom had sashayed into there lives as if nothing. The daughter of the formidable Valentine Morgenstern, bleeding them dry for help in finding her god forsaken mother. Rage towards the countless times his hand has been forced to going outright against the laws that has so meticulously structured his life. But most of all, rage towards his damn Parabatai who is risking everyone,and everything for some girl who in Alec’s humble opinion, is not worth any amount of effort in the least.

Alec’s world is crumbling at his feet before his very eyes, and he could do nothing to stop it.

With a huff of breath, Alec shrugs off his disgruntles, and refocusses on the mission before him. (Just as his mother had taught him.

Emotions of any kind are but a distraction.

Once the Shadowhunter turns into a cavity within the hideout, he hears murmurings being exchanged within the dim room.

He spots one of Valentine’s henchmen, marked with the loathsome circle rune scorched into his neck, snarling towards one of the Downworlders that have taken refuge here.

“Your cat’s eyes would make a nice addition to my collection,” he taunts with the war crime that had been outlawed by the Clave for over a century.

And that about does it.

Without thought, Alec strikes the smarmy faced fool with one of his arrows, just enough so that the obvious Warlock before him can execute the fatal last hit. 

And with a particularly intriguing finesse to his compelling movements, he does just that.

“Well done,” Alec commends—Smirking only ever so slightly at the Warlock’s response of, “More like medium rare.”

When he turns to face Alec, their eyes catch—-And it’s as if the Shadowhunters crumbling world has just been demolished by this man, and the incandescent gleam to his captivating gaze, all at once.

Alec doesn’t look away until the man introduces himself in a voice that actually dances over him, and hugs around his entirety. a splendid staccato that quite literally threatens to make Alec lose himself within it’s every cadence and lilt.

And by the damn Angel, , Alec had never before thought a voice could be attractive. (He had never allowed himself to think so.) especially a voice belonging to another man—Especially if that aforementioned man is a Warlock, (Of all beings.) A Warlock with a rather mesmerizing affinity for all things sparkling and sumptuous.

But he does.

Alec is quite certain that he replies to the all to beguiling man with his own name…But then there eyes meet again.

And for that infinitesimal moment, everything freezes over. The chaos becomes nothing but a dull rumbling in the background, and Alec’s breath get’s caught in his throat.

As their gazes bore into one another, Alec swears onto every deity that he knows of—that somehow The deep ebony irises become lighter somehow—A tone which is yet consuming in their depth—But yet most certainly not black. In contrast, something far warmer. A color that makes Alec want to submerge himself within the other man’s bottomless pools…A color alluring and welcoming all at once. A color arousing memories of freshly brewed coffee in the wee hours of the morning, and the crisp air within the Idris forests. A color resembling his favorite jumper speckled with wholes, and the way his baby sister’s eyes would light up with joy. A color oddly familiar.

But then Alec blinks…And the monochromes settle back into their rightful positions of painting the outlook of his life.

“It was a fluke,” Alec reasons, his hands trembling only ever so slightly as he does so.

Just a fluke…Because Alec Lightwood would never see color. Alec Lightwood would never have a soulmate…And most definitely not one whom was not only another man—But a Downworlder as well, (Someone who his parents would never even consider as being Alec’s other half.)

Just a fluke, because even if it wasn’t…Magnus Bane enraptures every being whom he even glances at, and Alec Lightwood is a boy who could never really offer him anything at all. 

And weren’t “soulmates,” suppose to be mutually attracted or something?

So with the evasion of the eyes, Alec mumbles something about regrouping to the Warlock, and scurries off in the opposite direction—all the while Completely ignoring the heat riding up his neck when he hears the smooth footsteps following suit.

In fact, Alec finds himself ignoring, (to the best of his abilities,) many occurrences of that night.

He ignores the smug one-liners the Warlock, (the ever magnificent Magnus bane,) winks his way. He ignores the sudden palpitation of the chest when he is forced to interlock hands with him. And he especially ignores the surge of shame which burns through him when Magnus tries to ensure him that “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” As if he knew a thing about Alec. As if somehow, along with the generations he has lived, that Magnus had understood the pressures and expectations constantly lying on Alec’s shoulders, without is even telling him of them. As if Magnus actually expected for Alec to ever believe in those words even slightly. As if he thinks that Alec’s vehement denial will ever settle down, or ware off.

But of course the Warlock would actually think that…After all, he is Magnus Freaking bane—Magnus bane who’s centuries of life was composed of decadence and unfiltered depravity. Magnus Bane who has dated everyone from illustrious vampires, to enchanting Seelies—And everything in between— without a care. Magnus bane who’s vivid exterior was the precise antithesis of the monochromic life that Alec has always accepted as his destiny.

Magnus Bane who must have only spoken the words of encouragement to Alec, as a passing thought, because in truth…The Magnificent Magnus Bane would never give a second glance to the ever diffident Alec Lightwood.

And Alec understands.

He does.

Alec has never been the sort of person that others bothered to give a second glance to. He had always been content in being the shadow lingering after the supernova that is Jace Wayland. 

And even though Alec had always been perfectly happy being seen as the stoic leader, who would do everything he can to protect his own. The man who upheld the laws of all Nephilim, and depicted the perfect warrior and leader within their society…He yet wished that Magnus Bane could have actually offered him a moment of his time…And Alec doesn’t want to even think of admitting why that is.

So—As he does with any unwanted feelings—Alec pushes the desire aside—Emotions are but a distraction—And returns to his reality.

His reality of methodic grays and never ending wars.

Because Alec Lightwood rules with his head, and not his heart.

 

***


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shadowhunter wants to scoff. As if he could ever not be able to recall the first instance that they had locked gazes, and the prickling sensation that Alec had never before felt spark through him by the interaction.
> 
> of course he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies<3 I’m really sorry for the late update, the last few days have been absolutely hectic, and I’m exhausted lol XD So here have a short update, and just FYI these next chapters are very heavily based on scenes from the Show, and most, if not all the dialogue will be picked up from there.  
> Please let me know what you think<3<3  
> And BTW this chap is based off 1x05  
> (I promiseeeee the next one is much much longer <3) XD

***

 

Ignoring does nothing to help him. 

Alec tries, (He really does.) Alec tries to continue appreciating the efficiently achromatic tones that paint his world. Alec tries refocussing on helping his infuriating Parabatai, and the girl whom has captured his fancy so entirely. Alec tries continuing to withhold his position as the institutes heir by following orders as their given, and not for even a moment questioning the understanding that his purpose of life is nothing but to help the cause of all Nephilim, which is to protect Mundanes, and nothing else. (Especially not assimilating into their way of life.)

Alec tries.

He does.

He rules with his head, and not his heart.

But then—As Alec is listening to Clarry blabber on about some sort of woefully misguided plan to help in the locating of her nefarious father—He answers his buzzing phone, and Alec’s resolve falls apart right then and there.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Alexander! Hi, it’s Magnus—“ Alec’s chest plunges forward, and suddenly he is diving head first back into the warming hues of the Warlock’s eyes. “We met the other day…You know? With the demon.” 

The Shadowhunter wants to scoff. As if he could ever not be able to recall the first instance that they had locked gazes, and the prickling sensation that Alec had never before felt spark through him by the interaction

Of course he does.

“Ahh…Yeah…Yeah, hey what’s up?” Is what Alec opts to retort, less he scare Magnus off with the sudden intensity.

“I was just thinking,” Magnus drawls, his smoothness of speaking interlacing seamlessly to the violins playing in the backdrop. “It was really nice getting to know you. You seem…sympathetic.”

Sympathetic?

What in Angel’s name does that mean? Is he pitting me? Is he amused by me? Does he know what I saw?

But before Alec could even begin to breakdown those inquiries, Magnus has asked him out for drinks. And Alec wants nothing more than to say yes. He wants to not only see whether or not he can yet spot varying colors when within Magnus’s captivating company—But he’d just would like the simple opportunity to speak with this man—One renowned for his charisma just as much as for his magical incantations—One whom actually seems interested in getting to know Alec. The Alec behind his cool disposition, and reticent tendencies. 

But then Alec turns around to an empty training room…And he finds himself cursing Clarry Fairchild for the umpteenth time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO SO SOOOOOO MUCH FOR READING!!!  
> Pleaseeeeee please let me know your thoughts<3 Comments are my legit lifeline<3  
> LOL Talk to me on my tumblr » MaleczAngel


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The magic subsides, and Alec finds himself catching the limp form of a wearyMagnus Bane, as Luke’s eyes flutter open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, dialogue is picked up from the show so to make it be more authentic lol <3

***

 

The next time Alec sees Magnus, the contradicting loyalties between his Parabatai, and the Clave churning within him are faltering, and his rage has begun culminating into a fury directed to the world in general.

“Maybe your mother was right, and your best just isn’t good enough,” Jace had spat towards him. And despite Alec being well aware that the sentiment behind the hallow words came from a place of anger over any real truth, it yet pained him to no end. It was as if Jace—His Parabatai, His brother—Had intentionally chosen the deepest wound to prod, Well aware to the pain it would inflict. And Alec wonders how he could ever speak to him like that…Because Alec could never look his Parabatai in the eyes and speak such horrendous words, in hopes of afflicting any sort of hurt onto him.

And when Izzy—His younger sister of all people—Had informed Alec of their parents devising a matrimony between he and the highest bidder within the Idris’s plutocracy, Alec is sickened.

He feels as if everyone he has loves is completely content in betraying his trust. As if they all expected that he would always return with a thirst to help, no matter the abuse. As if Alec hadn’t an emotion to spare.

So Alec does precisely what Alec would ever do—He retreats.

He leaves the Institute with no true purpose but to escape all the anger threatening to spill over. The young man supposes that he shouldn’t be shocked in finding that his steps had led him to where his Parabatai lies…But Alec is. Because Alec knows that he hasn’t retreated to the spacious loft for Jace, or for even helping the Werewolf…

No, neither of those rung true.

Rather, Alec has come here, to the notorious residency of the illustrious Magnus Bane, so to take the Warlock up on his offer of drinks, and perhaps test the scintilla of hope that has begun to sprout out sense their first meeting, and see if the color actually persisted.

Negating the panicked bodies swarming around him, and the hysteria that punctures the air, the moment Alec steps through the threshold—As if he was attuned to Magnus’s very spirit—His gaze falls upon the sight of Magnus’s concentrated form attempting to heal the Werewolf. And when Magnus asks for his strength, Alec doesn’t allow a moment to question it before he clamps their hands together, (It seems as if they’ve done plenty of that on the few occasions that they’ve actually met,) and told Magnus unwaveringly, “Take as much as you need.”

The light emanating from Magnus’s finger tips, and gliding over Luke, was truly a sight to behold. It’s all Alec can do not to completely unravel once the magic slowly darken to something that Alec has never witnessed before…A bright tone that is cooling, and mesmerizing all at once. A brilliant color that is only made more so by the magical being wielding it’s strength. A color reminding Alec of the clear top of Lake Lyn, and Izzy’s favorite shimmering pen, and the suit he had been forced to wear during his and Jace’s Parabatai ceremony.

A color that was comforting and yet completely unraveling—And Alec thinks that it may mirror Magnus perfectly in that sense.

But before Alec can contemplate that observation for too long, suddenly everything falls to a standstill, all at once.

The magic subsides, and Alec finds himself catching the limp form of a wearyMagnus Bane, as Luke’s eyes flutter open.

“You okay?” Alec is quick to question, hating the sight of Magnus appearing so thoroughly exhausted. As if he was not a centuries old Warlock who’s more than likely dealt with moments much more compromising than this. Or as if Magnus’s well being directly effected Alec’s, like Izzy or Jace’s would.

But even so,…The sight was unsettling.

“Yeah,” Magnus eventually breathes out, causing the knot of worry in Alec’s chest to loosen.

 

***

 

Alec sweeps the sponge across the mess splattered on the once pristinely kept sofa, chastising himself every time his glance lingered upwards, watching Magnus with more intrigue than the sight of a beautiful Warlock mixing drinks, should warrant for a man who does not allow his emotions to cloud his judgment.

“You know, I have magic for that. Right?” Magnus leers, causing Alec to inwardly stagger back in fear that he’s been caught.

“I think you’ve exerted yourself enough for one day,” Alec reasons as he scrutinizes the stain once more. Pushing aside the residual fragments of worry when remembering Magnus in such a state of exhaustion only an hour prior. Witch had been the reasoning behind Alec trying to clean the home to the best of his ability, so to ensure Magnus focusses all his strength upon healing himself first.

But then Magnus offers a, “Drink break,” and truly. How can Alec actually reject such an enticing offer.

With a snap of the fingers, a flame sparks out of the glass—And Alec wonders just how many times in a single night can Magnus Bane take his breath away. (He is ready to bet that it was an unfathomable amount.)

“To us,” Magnus proclaims prior to their clinking the glasses together.

Once he swallows the burning cocktail, Alec rests his gaze once more upon Magnus’s striking countenance. Appreciating how his tawny reflection only seems to accentuate his grin like a thousand splendid symphonies, and the aristocratic arch of his high cheekbones.

And then Alec panics.

Because not only has the warmth melted into Magnus’s irises once more, but other alien pigments have begun popping out.

Needing to avert his attention from the sudden revelation, Alec sputters out the first thought that pops into his mind. (Praying to all the Angels that it isn’t something completely mindless.) “Why did you ask for me?…I mean Jace and Clarry were still here.” Alec is quick to amend, so not to allow his prosaic manner to being misconstrued as impertinent.

“Hmm, Jace didn’t tell you?” Magnus hums before turning around to obscure his face from Alec. “Doesn’t matter, it was a lie anyways.”

“Are Warlock’s always this cryptic?” Alec accuses, wondering what his Parabatai had kept from him. And suddenly feeling a surge of anger that Jace would ever keep anything regarding Magnus bane from Alec…And he really doesn’t know why. 

“I’m not being cryptic…I’m being Coy,” Magnus corrects smugly, but then, with a slight huff, Magnus returns to looking Alec directly into his eyes. “Let me spell it out for you,” He offers. And with each step he takes closer to Alec, the more shallow the Shadowhunter’s breaths become. “I wanted to see you again.”

“Why?” Alec doesn’t believe him. He can’t believe him. Because he’s Alec Lightwood, nothing particularly interesting or captivating in the least. He doesn’t emanate Jace’s cunning swagger, and lacks Izzy’s easy affability. He is merely a Shadowhunter born and bread for battle and nothing else…

But He’s Magnus Bane! Magnus Bane who is a living, breathing enigma that Mundanes and Downworlders, (And even fellow Shadowhunters,) crave to even claim that they’ve met him. Magnus Bane who from birth was someone entirely astounding, and awing, and mystical.

So why in the name of Raziel would Magnus Bane be toying with Alec in such a way.

“Why’d you come,” Magnus counters without a moment’s hesitation.

Alec’s thoughts flounder, taken aback by the question. So simply put, but one which challenges so much of the desires that Alec has constantly attempted to tuck away from the prying eyes of onlookers.

And just for a moment, Alec thinks that he wants to divulge everything to Magnus.

Alec wants to tell him how he has grown tired and restless of being simply a dutiful Nephilim soldier who does nothing more but fight, and keep in tact the fragile balance of the worlds living within this dimension. Alec wants to tell Magnus that he is tired of being overlooked, and dismissed. Alec wants to tell Magnus how he has taken asylum within his loft because in all his years on this earth, Magnus Bane was the first to actually make him understand that there was something more that Alec can yet discover…Something astounding and breath taking, and remarkable. 

But most of all Alec simply wants to know Magnus…really know him.

Though when he parts his lips to admit it to Magnus, Alec is quick to shut them once more—Never being one for words.) So rather, Alec tells him, “I’m not sure.” Which is true in it’s own right, because Alec continues to be unswervingly confused about his emotions towards the captivating Warlock, and all the ways his life has been uprooted from all he has ever been taught to think of Downworlders, just by meeting him.

Magnus’s expression softens a fraction, as if empathetic to the thoughts battling within Alec. 

“For almost a century, I’ve closed my self off from feeling anything for anyone—man or woman—“ Magnus reveals in a hush, leveling him with a look conveying the idea that Alec was actually worth the time. “You’ve unlocked something in me.”

A pregnant hush has drenched over them, as a sudden deluge of emotions flood over Alec.

And Alec thinks he might actually do it.

The child of the angels wants to speak out loud all that he has kept hidden. He wants to ensure Magnus that he has unlocked something inside of him as well. Alec wants to tell him that sense they’ve met, Alec has begun seeing things never imagined. Alec wants to tell him how even if Alec is terrified about what it may mean, Magnus makes him want to understand the sensations of joy once never even imagined.

But then his phone shatters all his resolve, and his mother’s voice from the other line, petulant and clipped, instructs for his return to the Institute, “Immediately Alexander!”

With an inwards curse, Alec mournfully turns to Magnus, “Duty calls.”

“ah, furrowed brow,” Magnus notes Alec’s expression with slight amusement, and a curl of the lips. “Maryse must be recruiting you for something…Unseemly.”

Alec sinks his teeth into his inner cheek at the sudden arousal brought on by the way Magnus spoke that word…”Unseemly.”…A subtle inflection which makes Alec picture fraudulent acts committed in the middle of the night.

Um, ah listen Magnus,” Alec begins to stammer out, not actually knowing what he wants to say. “I-I wish I-I could just…I don’t know what—“ 

Thankfully, Alec had been rescued by a very fond looking Magnus hovering his long finger over Alec’s lips, with a panache that he has only witnessed portrayed by the Warlock before him. “I understand,” Magnus assures with a rueful grin, causing Alec’s anxious nerves to subside. “Stay for one more drink?” Magnus asks enticingly. “And then decide.”

There was never an option for Alec.

 

***

 

They don’t doze off until the first breaths of dawn trickle through the wide outlook to New York’s esteemed skyline, and Alec really doesn’t mind.

They spent most of the night talking about everything and nothing at all…From exchanging platitudes of the bustling streets of New York compared to other prominent cities, all the way to their familial history. 

Magnus had divulged to Alec how he had realized his heritage subsequent to his father’s attempted murder of him, and mother’s suicide, when he took refuge within the Silent Brothers’ domain within Madrid. And to his credit, Alec had opened up a considerable amount as well. He described how he had always, (sense birth,) been brought up to become the next great leader of the Shadow world. And how his parents had diluted his thoughts with the follies of glory, and pride when he would take the role of Council—Effectively continuing the proclivity of having Lightwood’s withhold the most crucial roles within the Shadow-realm…While simultaneously making it so Alec has always thought of himself as unworthy to carry on the tradition.

(Truly, an astonishing feat.)

Never before had Alec ever spoken out loud all the frustration he held for all the duties his parents had placed onto his shoulders sense a young age…But sitting here now, disclosing his feelings to a Warlock he had only met a few days prior—Alec has never felt more at peace with the situation as a whole…And he’d like to think that Magnus would mirror his sentiments if the smoothing of his beauteous features, (That had been scrunched up in wonderment of just how much he could disclose to Alec at the start, ) and the easy peals of laughter they shared over their fucked up childhoods, is anything to go by.

It was all very otherworldly. The way he felt so naturally drawn, and at ease when speaking with Magnus in ways he had never experienced with his parents, Jace, or even Izzy.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!<3  
> Pleaseeee let me know what you thought!! (Comments are to me what blood is to Simon TBH)  
> LOL and plz chat with me on my tumblr » MaleczAngel


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